


Crossed Genres

by bythunder



Series: Crossing Genres [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Musicians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bythunder/pseuds/bythunder
Summary: Alternate ending to my other fic, Crossing Genres.Sansa's a pop star and Jon's in an indie band.





	1. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:**

> Picks up at Ch. 14, at the Grammys.  
> If you haven't read chapters 1-13, go back and do that.

Jon and Sansa walked the red carpet together, his arm securely around her waist, his fingertips tickling her sides as he stroked the soft velvet of her gown. As the cameras flashed all around, Sansa was struck with a dizzying sense of déjà vu, so strong she had to stop to catch her breath. The last time she’d done this, it had been Joffrey standing beside her, her golden tormentor. Sansa felt a cold chill run down her spine, until Jon put a warm hand on her back. “You got this,” he whispered in her ear.

They paused only for a few photos, remaining tightlipped against any questions thrown at them and steadfastly refusing to stop for interviews. _Let them write whatever story they want_ , _they can’t ruin my night_. However, the nagging press wasn’t the only threat to Sansa’s good mood. As Jon and Sansa pressed through the throngs of people, creeping slowly towards the doors, they passed Margaery Tyrell chatting with a reporter and Sansa, on an inexplicable whim, stopped to overhear.

“Margaery, you look stunning this evening, who are you wearing?”

Margaery gave a breathy laugh and twirled to show off the full effect of her gown. “It’s a Lynesse Hightower. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“You’ve been seen in the company of Joffrey Baratheon a lot lately. Is there anything there?”

She flashed an enigmatic smile. “Joffrey and I have been friends for years. And of course you know Sansa Stark recently ended their relationship, he’s been taking it really hard. I’ve just been trying to support him through his breakup.”

“Sansa Stark has made some pretty serious allegations against Joffrey. Care to comment?”

Margaery waved her hand dismissively. “I really don’t want to get involved in the drama. But I do know Joffrey, and I can’t believe he’d ever be the kind of person who…”

Sansa couldn’t listen to this anymore. She grabbed Jon by the elbow and tugged him inside. “I used to think she was my friend.”

“I’m not sure she’s actually friends with anybody,” Jon said. “Ignore her, let’s find our seats.” She nodded as Jon led them down the aisles.

“I just don’t get how she could be with him.” Sansa shook her head in disbelief. “Even if it wasn’t… I mean, I never told her _everything_ , but she was the shoulder I cried on.”

“You told me she did all her own PR, right?” Jon asked.

Sansa nodded, unsure how that was relevant.

“I’ve heard rumors that she just signed with Casterly. I think it’s all a play.”

“What do you mean?”

“She probably used whatever it is with Joffrey to get into Casterly. They didn’t want her before, why would they now?”

“She wouldn’t really do something like that, would she?”

“I don’t know,” Jon shrugged. “You know her better than I do. Would she?”

Sansa frowned and nodded. “I remember her talking about how much she liked having a small label, but it did seem a little underhanded. Margaery’s always been… ambitious.” There was nothing wrong with Margaery using her connections to advance her career, it was expected, necessary, in this field. Still, Margaery’s comments were like barbs in her heart. Did she need to paint Sansa as a liar to achieve her means? Unless… Margaery couldn’t really _believe_ Joffrey, could she?  Sansa glanced around the room, so many people she looked up to, so many people she worked with or might yet someday. How many of them, like Margaery, thought Sansa was just stirring up ‘drama’? How many of her colleagues and contemporaries believed she would make up a story like that? And for what gain? Sansa was on the edge of losing everything. Why would she risk that if she wasn’t telling the truth? She felt sick just thinking of it.

Her thoughts were drowned out as the lights went dark and the host took the stage, signaling the start of the show.

It was a spectacular of color and lights, every act pulling out all the stops when it came to costumes, choreography, pyrotechnics. Even Jon, for all his grousing, seemed impressed by the sheer level of theatricality involved in this aspect of the awards ceremony, though he had a comment against nearly every single winner when their award was presented. Sarcastic barbs that had her biting down on her knuckle to keep from giggling out loud.

***

At last, it was time for the main event, Album of the Year. Jon squeezed Sansa’s hand as the host read the names of the nominees. He seemed as anxious as she was, maybe more so. Sansa almost laughed when she saw he was literally on the edge of his seat. When the presenter called her name, she nearly missed it, until Jon jumped up, dragging her with him. He threw his arms around her and kissed her cheek. “You _earned_ this!” Sansa was numb as she made her way to the stage. She accepted the award, clinging to the statuette to stop her trembling hands as she made her acceptance speech. She prayed her voice wouldn’t shake half so much.

“I don’t have a speech prepared because I didn’t think I’d actually win, so bear with me.” Sansa scanned the crowd for familiar faces. The glare of the lights made it hard to see, but she found Jon easily, hands clasped before him as if in prayer. On the other side of the venue, she thought she spied golden Lannister curls. “I was up here last year, accepting this for music that I had nothing to do with, music I wasn’t proud of. Tonight, I’m accepting this award for music I wrote, something that a year ago I didn’t even imagine was possible. And it wouldn’t have been possible, if not for one person. Jon Snow.” Sansa found him in the crowd again and felt her heart in her throat. How could she even begin to explain how important he was in her life? “Jon believed in my music, in me, when no one else did. Even when I gave him plenty of reasons to give up on me. This award is as much his as it is mine, because absolutely none of this would have been possible without him.”

Sansa blew a kiss to the crowd as the wrap-it-up music began to play and scurried offstage. The shock of the reveal was finally starting to wear off. The statue felt heavy in her hands, and Sansa realized she couldn’t remember a single word of her speech. She did say something, didn’t she? It was be mortifying if she stood there for two minutes with her mouth hanging open…

“It is customary to say ‘thank you’ when someone has given you a gift,” a soft voice whispered in her ear.

Sansa whipped around. “Petyr!” He smiled wolfishly but his eyes were cold. “Wh-what gift?” That wasn’t the right question but it was the only one that came to mind.

Petyr wrapped his hand around hers, still clinging to her trophy. “What else, sweetling?”

She jerked away from him, nearly tripping over her heels. “What do you mean? _You_ did this?”

“Of course. It was quite a bit of work, nominating you clandestinely, keeping Cersei and the others distracted long enough for the nomination to stick. Cost a pretty penny too. The voting board was reasonably afraid of stepping on the lion’s tail.”

 _I didn’t win_ … It was a silly thought compared to the implications of what Petyr was telling her, but still… _I didn’t earn this._ “Why did you do this? Why didn’t you _help_ me?”

“But I did help you. What you were asking for, what you’ve done… how has that worked out? No, you would have done better to bide your time.”

“Bide my time?!” It was only through effort that she didn’t shriek. “Bide my time until what, exactly? Until Joffrey broke my neck?”

“I wouldn’t have allowed that to happen,” he said softly.

“How did you plan to prevent it, hm? How were you helping me, Littlefinger?” Sansa never used that moniker before, knowing how little he cared for it, but right now, she wasn’t his sweetling and he wasn’t Petyr.

“Who do you think sent Joffrey on those business trips all over the country? Who scheduled your interviews and shows and work sessions when he’d be home?”

Sansa scoffed. “That’s what you call helping? Keeping us on different schedules.”

“Yes. Sooner or later, the boy would have grown bored with you, fool that he is, and when he left you, Cersei would have dissolved your contract. No lawsuits, no character defamation. It would have been clean and quiet.” He pulled her closer to him, close enough she could name the brand of mints he used. “Then we could have built your career anew, you and I. Any way you wanted it.”

“You’re awfully optimistic. Joffrey’s not the kind of person that likes to share his toys.” Petyr laughed. The bastard _laughed_! “Excuse me, Jon’s waiting for me.” She pushed past him, but he gripped her arm, soft but firm, stopping her in her tracks.

 “One word from me, and the lawsuits will be dropped and you’ll be released from your contract.”

Sansa froze. He couldn’t really, could he? Sansa wouldn’t have thought so, but before tonight, she didn’t think a person could single-handed buy an award either. “If you had that authority, why haven’t you used it already?”

“Because nothing in life is free, Sansa. You should know that by now.”

Sansa’s mouth was dry. She knew she couldn’t trust this man, this snake, but if he could really get Casterly’s claws out of her back, then maybe… “What’s your price?”

“I remain your manager. We’ve always worked well together. You’re a smart girl, but you can’t do this alone.”

“I’m not alone; I have Jon.”

His lips twitched in that irritating way, like he was sitting on some juicy secret that he wasn’t going to share. “Do you suppose he knows you’re in love with him?”

“I’m not—”

“Is he in love with you?” he asked.

“No.” It wasn’t an answer to his question; she was simply done talking to him. She pulled her arm away from him and shoved the golden statue into his hands. He paid for it, he may as well keep it. She marched down the aisle and pulled Jon from his seat. “Come on. We’re leaving.”

Jon didn’t argue. But as glad as he was glad to get out of there, he was concerned about her more. He could practically feel the tension radiating off her, but she didn’t speak the entire ride home. Jon didn’t broach her until they were back in the apartment, door closed and bolted against the rest of the world. “Are you ok?”

“I didn’t win.”

“The award…? Sansa, I was there, I saw you. You won.”

She shook her head as she tugged the pins out of her hair. “Petyr bought the judges.”

“Your old manager? How do you know?”

“He told me. He caught me backstage and he wanted me to _thank_ him. The nerve of that man!” Jon had never seen Sansa so enraged. It was kind of… arousing. “He _honestly_ thinks I can be bought, can you believe that!” She tossed her shoes by the door, oblivious to the scuff marks they left against the wall.

Jon put his hands on her shoulders to stop her agitated pacing. “Hold on, what exactly happened?”

Sansa huffed and started from the top, detailing the encounter with Littlefinger, his bribing the voting board, his offer to dissolve her contract, only omitting what he said about being in love. Jon didn’t need to hear that. And it was nonsense anyway. What did Petyr Baelish know about her feelings? “He could actually do it, Jon. Make the lawsuits go away.”

“No.” He put his foot down. “Don’t you remember what happened last time you trusted this guy? He sold you out to Cersei. He’s never done a single thing that has actually helped you in any way. You can’t agree to his terms.” Jon knew he couldn’t really stop her if she made up her mind, but accepting this guy’s offer, it would be out of the frying pan and into the fire. Assuming Baelish could do what he promised at all, about which Jon had his doubts.

“Of course I remember! I’m not going to let that— that creepy _fuck_ anywhere near me, ever again.” Sansa’s voice dropped to a whisper as she cursed.

Without warning, Jon pulled her to him and kissed her. Sansa’s hand flew to his shoulders, pushing him back. “What are you doing!”

He laughed. “Sorry, I’ve just never heard you say ‘fuck’ before.”

Sansa blushed from her hairline down her neck, and well, Jon could only assume that it continued further. “I can say it again.” One eyebrow raised and the corners of her mouth tugged into something like a smirk. She ran a hand through his hair, urging his lips back to hers. “ _Fuck.”_ Jon was undone.

They were both breathless when they parted, tangled up in each other on the couch. Sansa couldn’t even remember lying down. That couldn’t have been a kiss, the word felt too mundane for what just happened. It felt like the stars aligning.

Jon sat up, and Sansa missed the comfortable weight of him immediately. “So we’re agreed? You can beat Casterly on your own.”

Sansa nodded, still too dumbstruck to speak. “Uhuh.” She sat up and smoothed her skirts, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. So much for the crush she’d been trying to suppress. There’d be no reining it back in now, not when she knew he kissed like that.

“Great.” He kissed her temple and got up, taking off his jacket and tie. He sighed in relief. “Finally.”

“Aw.” Sansa was sorry to see the tux go. _Gods, but he’s a handsome man._ “Did I ever thank you? For dressing up, for coming with me, for everything. I know awards aren’t really your thing, but I don’t know how I would’ve handled this night by myself.”

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You would have been fine without me.”

“Yes, but, I’m glad I didn’t have to be.”

Jon pulled a bottle of Arbor Gold out of the fridge and poured two glasses. “I got this as a congratulations, but I guess, in light of things, you’re probably not in the mood to celebrate.”

Sansa gratefully accepted the glass he offered. “I’m just… so embarrassed. I should have known. From the moment I was nominated, I should have known someone was toying with me.”

“Don’t say that.” Jon was not about to stand by and let her feel sorry for herself. “You said yourself, you’re proud of your music. You don’t need some idiot award to be proud, Sansa.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like them.” Sansa took a big swig of wine. Jon splurged on the good stuff.

“I’m saying it because it’s true.” Jon felt a little vindicated in his position on award shows, but he hated that it had to come at Sansa’s expense. “If someone can buy an award as easily as he did, then, obviously they don’t mean shit. I can run to the store and buy you ten little trophies if that’s what you want.”

Sansa smiled wanly. “I know you’re right, but can’t I just feel bad about it for a little while?”

“You can, I didn’t mean— Just, don’t feel bad about it forever, ok?”

She nodded, not that she needed his permission. She finished her wine and stretched. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a long night.” Sansa kissed his cheek. They were close enough now for such familiarities, right? Jon didn’t shy away in any case. “Good night.”

“Night, Sansa.”


	2. Chapter 15

As much as Sansa wanted to feel sorry for herself, she couldn’t seem to muster up the level of self-pity required for a good sulk. True, Petyr’s revelations had turned her triumph into a humiliation that she would feel for the rest of her life, but as long as she didn’t think about it, she didn’t feel the embarrassment of accepting an award she had no right to in front of literally the entire world. It was easy not to think about it when her mind was clouded with Jon instead. He kissed her. And she kissed him back. It wasn’t the most romantic first kiss but maybe that was for the better. It was spontaneous and that meant it was honest. That was worth immeasurably more than roses and candlelight and falsehoods.

She made up her mind to ask him about it in the morning, after tossing and turning all night. Three times, she got up and made it to her door before chickening out and climbing back under the covers. Come morning light, she felt brave enough to face it head on. Not so brave that she was going to have this conversation in her pajamas though. She spent a little too long staring at her closet deciding what to wear. _As if it even matters,_ she thought, tugging off one blouse and replacing it with an oversized sweater. She double checked the overall look in the mirror, not bad but not trying too hard either. After running a brush through her hair, keeping it long and loose (she had an inkling Jon preferred it that way), Sansa decided that she’d dawdled enough and left her sanctuary to get some answers.

“Hey, you’re back early,” she said as she helped Ghost out of his leash, who had just bounded through the front door clearly not having burned off his usual morning energy. This time of day, Jon was typically out running with Ghost. It never took them less than an hour to complete their circuit and considering Jon always left at the same time, they weren’t due back for another thirty minutes.

Jon grunted as he kicked off his sneakers. “Too many assholes out with cameras. Ghost nearly bit a guy so we had to cut it short.” He brushed past her into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I almost let Ghost have at him but the risk wasn’t worth it.”

“Cameras? Like, paparazzi?” One thing that had blissfully been missing from her life since moving in with Jon. Not that there wasn’t the odd photog or two, but most days she could even go to the store in relative peace. But never without makeup, just in case. Nothing compared to the harassment she endured under Cersei’s care which she was beginning to realize wasn’t a coincidence.

“That’s what I meant, yeah.”

“I’m sorry. They’re always on high alert around award season. I’m sure I didn’t help any, calling attention to you like I did.” Seeing her chance to segue the conversation to where she wanted it, Sansa said, “Speaking of last night—”

“I actually had a good time. But don’t tell anyone I said that. I’ll deny it.” He waggled a threatening finger in her direction.

“That’s not- I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, but I meant after, when you—”

She was cut off by Jon’s phone buzzing rudely against the counter. He glanced at the i.d. before snatching it up. “It’s Sam, I gotta take this. He says it’s big.” Jon put the phone to his ear and stepping into his room for privacy.

“—kissed me,” Sansa sighed. Why was this so hard? _Jon, I love you_. _And I think I’m in love with you._ See? Easy. But every time she tried to voice her feelings, the words got caught in her throat. It’s not that she was afraid, exactly. Not of Jon rejecting her. He might yet but Sansa was sure she could bear it. (Though he kissed her first. Sansa was fairly certain she wasn’t the only one feeling… whatever this was.) It was just… the idea of being vulnerable with another person again that she couldn’t quite reconcile with. Even if Jon made her feel safer than anybody else in King’s Landing.

Jon came back, fully dressed, and immediately grabbed his coat from the closet and yanked on his shoes. “Ok, I gotta get downtown. We’re having a band meeting.” He paused as he laced up his boots. “You should probably come too.”

“What did Sam have to say?”

“That you are the best thing to ever happen to this band,” he said with complete sincerity.

“What?”

“Sam can explain it better if you come along.”

Jon was buzzing with such an unusual energy that Sansa had no choice but to put her thoughts aside and follow him out the door. Jon had warned her about the paparazzi, but it was still shocking seeing a crowd of people outside of the door, cameras flashing like strobes as soon as they stepped off the elevator. Sansa took a deep breath as she braced herself to face them.

Jon pulled on a pair of shades and pulled his collar up around his cheeks. “Twelve feet from the door to the cab, think we can make it?”

Sansa tugged her hood farther down her head. “Let’s go.”

Together they barreled through the photographers to the safety of the cab.

***

They were the last ones to arrive at the studio. Pyp was at his drums, playing so loudly they could hear him clear down the hall. He only stopped when Grenn swatted his head with a rolled up magazine.

Sam got up as soon as they entered. “Jon, about time you got here. Oh, Sansa, you came too, good. Congratulations, by the way. I knew you’d get it.”

Sansa bit her tongue to prevent herself telling Sam about her less-than-honest win and thanked him gracefully.

“Finally!” Pyp whined. “Sam wouldn’t tell us anything until you got here.”

“Jon won’t tell me anything either,” Sansa agreed.

“I didn’t want to have to repeat myself a dozen times. It was easier to wait,” Sam said.

“Easy for you to say, you already know!”

“Do you want to know why I called you here or not?”

“You have the floor, Sam,” Jon said, getting Pyp to shut up, a talent that only came after years of working in close quarters.

“Ok. My phone’s been ringing off the hook just about all morning. It seems that in light of Sansa’s shout out last night,” Sam nodded to her, “everyone is looking to book the Watchers.”

“You mean looking to book Jon.”

“No. I mean, yes, he’s a point of interest but they want all of you. You’ve been invited to perform on at least three late night shows, a dozen radio shows want interviews, not to mention our usual shows.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve got a preliminary schedule worked out already.” Sam passed out copies of his calendar. “This is just what I’ve got for now. There’s no reason we have to accept all of them, or any really. But this is what I think works best. What gives you guys the best bit of promotion.”

They spent the whole afternoon working out the kinks in their schedule, deciding to accept all the television performances, about half of the radio interviews, and while they were planning, Sam got a call asking if Jon was available to host Saturday Night Live. Jon was mortified at the prospect, but after a bit of haggling, Sam had convinced Jon to accept on the condition that the Watchers would also be the musical guest. “Ok, I know you’re going to have a busy few weeks coming up, but now would probably be a good time to put out some new music too.”

Jon agreed. “We’ve been working on some stuff, shouldn’t take too much longer to finish it up, right guys?”

“Right,” Grenn confirmed.

“Who knew putting Jon in a monkey suit was what we needed to break out.” Pyp said sarcastically, banging his drums in a ba-dum-tss.

“I’m so glad I could help you guys,” Sansa muttered.                                        

Jon turned to her. “You should come with us.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? This is all because of you.”

“That’s exactly why. I don’t want to usurp you. This is your moment, they want you. I’d just be a distraction.”

A strange look passed over his face at that, but whatever was on his mind Jon was keeping it to himself. But that surge of excitement that he’d been radiating since Sam’s call was gone. The others, lost in their own cloud of giddiness, didn’t seem to notice, but Sansa saw the slight downturn of his lips.  Had she said something wrong? Sansa hoped not. She was happy for them, really. It was about time the world starting taking note and giving the Watchers their full due. 

It was almost evening by the time she could ask him about it though. After they’d worked out a schedule, they boys carried on their celebration and ordered pizzas and beers, toasting their newfound success and Sansa who had served it up on a silver platter. Or golden trophy. “Who cares, dude, all that matters is we’re going up in the world!” They cheered and passed out another round.

“It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it?” Sansa said, curling up on the couch as soon as they got back home. It really had been a busy twenty-four hours.

“You can say that again.” Jon dropped down next to her and Ghost crawled up between them.

Sansa prodded him with her toes. “You must be really excited. You might even get that arena finally.”

“Hm? Oh, right. Yeah, it’s all pretty crazy.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Jon, what’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong? Today has maybe been the best day of my whole career.” His tone conflicted with his words and confirmed Sansa’s suspicions. “I’m just tired, is all.”

“This morning you were practically glowing when you got Sam’s call. And somewhere in between then and now, you got all,” She did her best to imitation of his brooding scowl.

He almost laughed at the face she pulled before the frown set back in, less a scowl now and a little more anxious. “I’ve just been thinking what if…”

“What?”

“What if they don’t want me? What if this is just hype after the Grammys, and in two months no one will care anymore.” He took care not to blame her, she noticed, but she knew it was her fault regardless.

“Don’t be silly.” It was the first time Sansa had seen Jon as anything less than absolutely confident in his own work. It wasn’t a good look for him. “Even if they only want you right now for the hype, you’re going to go and prove to everyone just good you are. And they’re going to want you for you.”

“And if they don’t?”

Sansa laughed. “So what? Jon, when have you ever cared about that?” Sansa smoothed out the crease in his brow with her fingertips. “What’s this really about?”

Jon leaned across Ghost and rested his forehead against her shoulder to hide his face as he confessed, “I don’t feel like I deserve this. I didn’t do anything.”

“You know that’s not true. You work harder at this than anyone I’ve ever met.” It was no exaggeration either. Where most others put in time and effort into networking their way to success, Jon put in double to the music. Sansa knew how much he valued his artistic integrity but using this situation to his advantage wasn’t the same as selling out. She rolled her shoulder to dislodge him. “Do you remember what you said to me, the first time I came by your studio?”

“That I was an ass to you when we first met?”

“ _’You’re too good to keep yourself hidden away.’_ I know all this stuff is stressful and sometimes it’s hard to see where the music fits into it all, but don’t waste this opportunity. You’ll regret it if you do.”

Jon sighed. “Have I ever told you about my dad?”

“Not very much, no.” She wondered at his abrupt change of topic.

“Course not…”  Jon’s left leg bounced anxiously, so hard that Ghost disembarked the couch with a harrumph. “He works in the industry. He’s— nevermind. I changed my name so people wouldn’t know we’re related. Sometimes I feel like a shitty son for that, not carrying on the legacy or whatever, but I never wanted anyone to say that anything was handed to me.”

“Oh.” That certainly explained a few things. For a brief moment she tried to guess who his father might be, if it was anyone she’d heard of or someone she knew, but she stopped that train of thought before she got too distracted. “So all of this—”

“Feels like exactly what I’ve been denying my father for in order to avoid.”

“Except you’re wrong,” Sansa said with absolute conviction. Jon raised an eyebrow. “Littlefinger handed me an award I didn’t deserve. But this, this is someone giving you a chance and that’s not the same thing.”

“Sansa.”

“It’s not!”

“I was going to say you’re right,” he said with a tired smile. “And even if you weren’t, I gotta bite the bullet and do this anyway. It’s not fair to the guys, if I ruin our big break because of my daddy issues.” He grunted as he lifted himself off the couch and stretched. He looked as tired as she felt.

“I think Pyp would probably kill you if you did that.”

“Without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Now that that’s settled, can I ask,” It was truly ridiculous that she spent the past year getting to know Jon, becoming his friend, making him her confidante and accomplice, even living with the man without ever knowing his real name. Her mother would throw a fit if she knew. “If ‘Jon Snow’ if a stage name, then what’s your real one?”

“Oh. It’s, uh, Targaryen. Jon Targaryen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to figure out where the story goes from here...


	3. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between chapters 11 and 14.

Robb loved many things about his wife. But the one thing he couldn’t stand was her fascination with celebrity culture. Watching reality tv and following actors on Instagram and the like… He groaned when he saw the magazine on the counter. Even were his sister not a regular topic for gossip rags, he would think they were stupid, but definitely after Sansa’s rise to stardom he refused to endorse anything that would pry into Sansa’s private life the way these ‘reporters’ tried to. One wardrobe malfunction was enough to call it quits. He knew he couldn’t talk Jeyne out of reading them in the check out line in the grocery store but he had to draw the line at actually paying money for this drivel. “Jeyne!”

She emerged from the living room at his call. “Yes?”

He waved the magazine in her face. “I thought we talked about this.”

“I know but—”

“No buts. This is garbage, I really don’t understand how you can even—”

Jeyne tugged the periodical out of his hand and flipped it open. “ _But_ ,” she continued, “I thought you might want to see this.” She dropped it on the counter and pointed to the article.

Robb followed her finger and read the item.

**_Trouble In Paradise?_ **

_Sansa Stark has been reigning Queen of the billboard charts since signing with Casterly almost three years ago. And what would a Queen be without her King? Sansa and heir to Casterly Records Joffrey Baratheon have been romantically entangled even before she began her career. High school sweethearts turned industry royalty, but does a horror story lurk underneath this fairy tale façade?_

_Through a secret release, Sansa Stark dropped a new album earlier this month. Unlike anything she’s done previously, the songs are more subdued, almost somber, and hauntingly beautiful, completely devoid of the light-hearted dance anthems she’s best known for. But it’s the album cover that raises the most questions._

Enlarged, covering the entire left page of the spread, was the photograph in question.

Robb felt his stomach bottom out and his hands started shaking. _No, no, no. This can’t be true_. Since the first day they met, Robb thought Joffrey was the most detestable prick in human history, but this was beyond the pale. Part of him hoped the image was faked but Robb knew it wasn’t. Even though she wasn’t facing the camera, he knew his sister when he saw her. He recognized the constellation of freckles on Sansa’s right shoulder, the ones he used to play connect the dots with on long car rides. “Fuck…” he swore softly and again louder, “Fuck.”

Jeyne rubbed his shoulders the way she always did when he was stressed, but it wouldn’t work to relieve his tension now. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with this information. Robb was the oldest, he was supposed to look out for his siblings and he can’t help but feel like he failed.

He scrolled through his phone to find Sansa’s number. According to his phone’s log, it had been nearly a year since their last call and it lasted less than five minutes. The memory was still clear. He had called to congratulate her Grammy win and to invite her to his wedding since she never responded to the RSVP. While she cheerfully accepted his kudos, when he said “Hey, sis, I’ve got to ask you something important,” she hurried him off the phone. She had other engagements, Sansa told him, and she would call him tomorrow. But she didn’t call him back and Robb found out the next day from pictures online that ‘other engagements’ meant partying with Margaery Tyrell and other celebrities. It was the single most angry with her he’d ever been.

Would she answer his call now? It’d been so long. He said a quick prayer to the old gods and the new and pressed call.

_“The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please try again.”_

He called again to similar effect. Damn. His next move was to call Arya. He doubted she would have heard from Sansa any more recently, but he had to know if anyone else in the family knew about this.

“Whaddup?” Arya answered, the noise of some video game blaring in the background, accompanied by their brothers’ competitive shouts and hollers. Arya told them to shut up before focusing on the call.

“Hey, when’s the last time you talked to Sansa?”

“Uhm, she sent me something for my birthday a few months ago. I texted her to say thanks. Why? You know she and I don’t ‘chat’ much.”

“I know. I thought maybe…” Maybe Sansa told Arya about her relationships problems? Yeah, right. Robb realized how stupid that sounded before he said it.

She must have heard the anxiety in his voice because her end of the line got quiet as she left the game room. “Robb, what’s up with Sansa?”

“You haven’t seen anything about her online?”

“I have her blacklisted on most sites, why?”

“Just google it, please.” Robb wasn’t sure he had to words to tell her himself. He cringed as he looked over the photo again, Sansa sitting at a piano, shirtless, baring her bruises to the person behind the camera. Who did she trust enough to take that picture, he wondered, when she didn’t trust telling her family about this.

He heard her typing followed by a curse more colorful than his own. “Joffrey’s a fucking dead man.”

“You can say that again. I tried to call her but she must’ve changed her number.”

“So what are we gunna do? Roadtrip to King’s Landing to kick some ass?” Arya had years of martial arts lessons, Robb knew she wasn’t joking. She already broke Joff’s wrist once (accidentally, she claimed to parents, but no one believed that) and Robb knew Arya would love another go at him. Truthfully, Robb wouldn’t say no to throwing a few punches himself but someone had to be the adult here.

“We’ll keep that as Plan B, ok? Right now, I’m going to try and get a hold of Sansa. In the mean time, can you make sure Mom doesn’t see any of this stuff? She can’t find out like this.”

“How’m I supposed to do that?” Arya huffed. Inaction wasn’t her strong suit. But however tempting it was to break more of Joffrey’s bones, it wouldn’t help anything.

“Figure it out, Arya. You’re good at hiding things. Mom still doesn’t know about your tattoo.”

“Fine, I’m on it.”

After they hung up, Robb redoubled his efforts to locate his other sister, making a list of every contact he had, any email address or phone number, of anyone who might be able to connect him to his sister. These attempts were hardly more successful than calling Sansa directly had been. Some, like the couple of stylists he managed to track down, were polite, offering sympathy but no information. Others, Cersei’s personal assistant for one, rudely hung up as soon as he mentioned his sister’s name. All were unable to tell him anything.

He’d been at it for weeks before exhausting every resource he had. He even called Joffrey’s sister, in the off chance she might know something. Myrcella and Sansa had always been friendly, but since moving to Dorne for school, Myrcella admitted she hadn’t seen much of her brother or Sansa. It was only mildly comforting to hear her call Joffrey “the actual worst” and she wished him luck with his search.

Robb was worried, but what more could he do that he hasn’t already done, short of going to King’s Landing himself to scour the city.

Jeyne had been helping in a different sort of way. She kept an eye on the tabloids and the gossip sites and trashy reality TV ‘news’ shows for any mentions of Sansa. That was slightly more successful. More reassuring than the wild speculation about her break up with Joffrey, there was the occasional photograph. Candid shots showed she was alive and appeared to be doing well. She _appeared_ to be doing well with Joffrey though. It wasn’t an entirely comforting notion… But a couple of pictures were all they got until the night of the Grammys.

“Robb! Get in here!” Jeyne was curled up on the couch watching the red carpet, under the pretense of keeping an eye out for Sansa, but Robb knew she’d be watching it regardless. “What’s the name of that guy in that band you like, the loud one?”

“Watchers on the Wall? Jon Snow, why?” He asked, wandering in from the kitchen.

She snapped her fingers drawing his attention to the tv as the camera panned around the crowd. Jeyne hit pause as it lingered on a couple just over Margaery Tyrell’s shoulder. “That’s him with Sansa, isn’t it?”

Robb inspected the screen. They were in the background but unmistakable nonetheless. Jon Snow had his arm around Sansa’s waist, leaning in intimately to whisper something in her ear. He couldn’t help but laugh, remembering how fifteen-year-old Sansa used to shriek at him to turn that noise off as they fought over the stereo. He couldn’t imagine what impossible scenario put those two together but at this moment he didn’t care. It was the first new lead he had, another avenue to explore. He watched long enough to see them disappear into the venue together before going to the computer to research. If he couldn’t get ahold of Sansa directly, he might at least be able to contact Jon Snow…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flipped-flopped about which direction to take this, but I still think Sansa reconnecting with her family is important.  
> I hope this doesn't end up feeling redundant.


	4. Chapter 17

Jon’s fears were soon put to rest. Initially, yes, it was clear that Sansa had a very large influence as to why the Watchers on the Wall were so sought after. Without an agent and currently trapped in a legal battle with one of the largest labels in the business, the _Album of the Year_ winner wasn’t in a position to take any interviews or performances, which made Jon Snow, her rumored lover, was the next best thing. It was irritating just how many questions he was asked regarding their relationship. He deflected where he could and where he couldn’t, Jon simply said, “We’re very good friends,” and left it at that. But for every one appearance they made, two more invitations were received and eventually the questions about Sansa all but stopped. (They never stopped entirely and people still openly speculated but it got less attention as time wore on.)

On the other side of the coin, Sansa was feeling lonely in a way she hadn’t experience in a long time. She was, unselfishly, happy for Jon and extremely proud to watch the band explode into the spotlight. She made it a point to watch their every interview and performance on TV to show her support in whatever small way she could. But selfishly, she missed Jon terribly. His schedule was now so full that even living under the same roof, Sansa felt like she barely got to see him anymore. He left early in the morning and came home late. The first few days of this, she’d tried to stay up to see him, but on those long days he was in no mood to talk when he got home, preferring simply to go straight to bed. And she still hadn’t managed to ask him about their kiss. It was a frustrating situation on every level.

In the middle of the third week of this impossible schedule, Jon managed to come home at in the middle of the afternoon. Sansa was so surprised to see him during daylight hours that she almost threw something at him as a defense against intruders. “Were you going to fight me with a rubber bone?” Jon laughed when he saw her, arm cocked with the dog toy held high.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said and dropped the toy which squeaked on impact. Ghost came to collect it a moment later, taking it to his dog bed where he could chew on it in peace. “I thought you had a photoshoot today. Or, no, wait—” It was hard to keep his schedule straight. Sansa had it written down somewhere because she’d given up on trying to memorize it.

“No, that’s right. I came to pick up Ghost for it actually. The photographer says he’s got a good look. Fits with our ‘aesthetic’. I don’t even know what that means but it’s easier not to ask questions.”

“Oh.” Sansa was a little saddened by the loss of her companion. In Jon’s absence, she’d been doting on the dog, talking him for his usual morning walks, curling up with him to watch movies, and she’d even taught him three new tricks. Ok, two and a half. Ghost was a very stubborn dog and he just refused to sit pretty no matter how many treats she bribed him with.

“There’s something else.” He pulled out an obnoxiously bright yellow envelope from his back pocket. “I got this in with the fanmail but I think it’s for you.”

Sansa looked it over. It was addressed to Jon Snow but the return address was… _Oh_. She unfolded the letter and read it quickly.

_To Mr. Jon Snow;_

_My name is Robb Stark and I have reason to believe you know my sister, Sansa. I have been unable to get in touch with her for some time and I was hoping you’d be able to help me reach her. It’s a matter of some importance. I would appreciate anything you are able to tell me about my sister. If I am mistaken, I apologize and please disregard._

_Thank you,_

_RS_

Under his signature, he’d included an email address and a phone number.

“Sansa,” Jon spoke after a few minutes when it became clear she wasn’t about to offer an explanation. “Why is your brother asking me how to find you?”

Sansa could barely tear her eyes away from the letter to meet Jon’s gaze. “I-” She swallowed hard and started again. “I haven’t talked to him in a while…”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“I don’t know.” She recalled him calling to congratulate her for… something. After one of the awards shows probably. All she remembered was her high heels pinching her toes and Margaery shouting in her ear about an after-party. But that couldn’t have been the last time they talked, was it? Sansa couldn’t think of anything more recent though. “Maybe a year?”

“Sansa, what the hell!” Jon could go for quite a while without seeing him family in person, but he never went without some kind of communication for very long. Even when Egg was soul-searching in Essos, Jon never went more than a month without at least a text conversation with his brother.

She flinched. “I know! I know it’s bad. I know.”

“Why then?”

“Because—” It had been so long that not talking to her family had just become habit but there must have been a reason at the beginning, right? She struggled now to think of what it was…

Joffrey and Robb hated each other. They’d come to blows more than once. It was after Arya tripped him on the stairs, resulting in a broken wrist, that Joffrey flat out refused to accompany her on visits back home. She went once or twice without him but Joff never made it easy for her, complaining and guilt-tripping and never failing to mention just how tiresome he found her family. Eventually it was just easier not to go. Joffrey was her future and everything was better when he was happy. Besides, the thought of seeing her family, of pretending to smile and be happy, all the while with Joffrey’s bruises on her arms… it was too much to bear. When her career started to boom and her busy schedule gave her a convenient excuse to stay away, she took it.

As for calling, well, Sansa tried to keep up on holidays and birthdays but as life got more complicated, she definitely fell behind. Being the baby, Rickon probably didn’t notice much, and she and Arya had barely gotten along at the best of times, but Bran and Robb... and her mother. No, she had no excuse.

When she told him as much, Jon realized something important. Something he should have thought about a long time ago, but his focus was so narrowminded when he pushed her album. His only thought had been getting her away from the Baratheon fucker. “Sansa… your family didn’t know about Joffrey, about what he did-?”

She shook her head. “You’re the only person I ever told.” And even then, she didn’t use words.

“Shit. _Shit_.” His intention had been to expose Joffrey’s crimes to the world, to Sansa, but in doing so, he also exposed him to a certain number of people named Stark. “So they found out because of me? And you haven’t called them? Gods, it’s been months!” Jon couldn’t imagine what her family must be thinking, feeling, but it figures not good.

“I know!” Sansa shouted back. “I know, I’m the worst. I just don’t know how to start that conversation.” She bit her lip and look at the letter again, eyes lingering over her brother’s phone number. “I need to call him, don’t I?”

“I can’t tell you what’s the right thing to do here.” Jon ran a hand through his hair and checked the time. “Shit, I really gotta go. We can talk about it when I get back?” he offered.

Sansa nodded. “Yeah, ok.”

Jon pressed a kiss to her forehead, almost enough to make her beg for him to stay, before he gathered up Ghost and returned to his bandmates, promising he’d try to make it an early night.

The door had barely closed behind him before Sansa started dialing. If she didn’t do this now, she knew she would find another excuse to put it off and she couldn’t keep doing that to the people she loved. Not when her brother was reaching out like this.

It rang once, twice, three times… so many times that she nearly gave up before he finally answered. “Hello?”

She almost cried at the sound of his voice, she had missed him so much. “Robb?”

“Sansa?”

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Sansa could hear the smile in his voice and it helped ease her worry. He was still her big brother after all, the same big brother who teased her on the playground but would always check her closet for monsters, even after she outgrew the need for it. Love like that doesn’t just go away. “So, um, I got your letter, the one you sent Jon. To Jon Snow.”

“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure if that was going to work.”

“Well, it did.” There was a beat of silence between them as they figured out what to say. Sansa knew what his ‘matter of some importance’ was but she couldn’t bring it up just now, not yet. “How are things back home?”

They talked for over an hour, only ending the conversation when Robb’s boss came by to yell at him for taking a personal call during work hours. Before hanging up, however, Robb invited Sansa to come North. There were some things that were better to talk about in person, and besides, she needed to see the rest of the family. With a loose plan in place, Sansa told him she loved him and they would see each other soon. After hanging up, Sansa couldn’t stop smiling to herself, a peace she didn’t realize she was missing settled deep in her heart.

***

Jon got home just after 9:00. It was later than he wanted, he couldn’t stop thinking about Sansa and her family, but it was earlier than most of his days these past few weeks. “Hey, how was your day?” Jon asked as soon as he was through the door. He wasn’t sure what to expect of her emotional state upon his return, if she’d spent the whole afternoon agonizing over her brother’s letter, if she’d ignored it completely. But instead of a wreck, Jon found her almost buoyant, humming to herself as she scratched away in her music book.

“Really good,” she said, dropping her pencil and smiling up at him as he crossed the room to her. “I called Robb.”

“Yeah?” _Good_. He held back saying so earlier, giving her time to get there on her own, but there was no way Sansa couldn’t _not_ call her family. If he had come home and Sansa said she wasn’t going to do it, Jon was prepared to call Robb Stark himself. But this was better. “How did that go?”

“I honestly don’t even know what I was worried about. It was nice, talking to him. I missed that. We used to be really close, you know.”

Jon squeezed her shoulder lightly, a gesture of reassurance. “Did you talk about, uh, his ‘important matter’?”

She shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

“Don’t you think you should?”

“I will, but… It just feels like something to do in person.” Sansa paused a moment before saying, almost nervously, “I was thinking I should go home for a bit. It’s been a long time, and with you working so much right now and I’m not, I’ve just been doing nothing here.”

“Oh.” It made sense that she would want to see her family, but Jon’d gotten so used to her being around the house, he could already feel the emptiness of her absence. He would have offered to go with her if he could, but there was too much on his plate to take time off now. But no, some things she had to do on her own.

“If you need me to stay, I will. Someone’s got to look after Ghost after all.”

“No, it’s fine. Mr. Mormont down that hall, he doesn’t mind watching him. You go do what you have to do.” Even if Jon wanted her to stay, he wouldn’t ask her to, couldn’t. Joffrey had kept her away from her family long enough and if Jon asked her not to go now, he wouldn’t be any better and that was one low bar. Besides, Sansa so clearly needed this.

Sansa smiled brightly and threw her arms around him. “I promise I won’t be gone long.”

He hugged her back, holding her to him even after her arms relaxed against his shoulders. “Don’t worry about me, stay as long as you need to.”

And with that, it was settled. Sansa bought a plane ticket that night and forwarded her itinerary to Robb who would pick her up upon arrival. Three days later, Sansa had a bag packed and Jon escorted her to the airport. Sansa insisted he didn’t need to, (she’d located her copy of his schedule and knew he was missing an interview to do this) but Jon couldn’t let her go without seeing her off. The last time she walked out his door, she very nearly didn’t come back. He knew that this was different, that she was visiting her family, not heading into Baelish’s waiting clutches, but his mind would not be eased unless he saw to it himself. They said goodbye at the gate, parting with a kiss, which only served to remind Sansa that she still had yet to talk to Jon about that, but it would have to wait as the attendant just made the last call for boarding. Sansa had just enough time to promise to call tonight to check in before darting down the short hall to the plane. Once the gate closed, Jon knew he should head out but he waited until he saw her plane take off before going back to work, anything to keep his mind off his now empty apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter's gunna have a whole lotta Starks


	5. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably not worth the three month wait but it's as good as it's going to get, so let's move on.

Robb saw Sansa before she saw him. She texted him as soon as the plane landed, telling him she would be waiting by the baggage claim, but he had yet to text back. _He’s probably still on the road_ , she thought as double-checked her phone while waiting for her bag to come thumping down the chute. Easy to spot in the sea of black, her purple bag fell forward onto the carousel but before she could reach it, Sansa felt two arms around her waist, lifting her up and twirling her around. “Robb!!” She shrieked and slapped his arms. “Put me down!”

He grinned and after setting her on her feet, he hugged her properly. “Couldn’t resist. I’m just really glad you’re here.”

“Me too. But what’s with the beard?” She giggled, patting his facial hair. Last time she’d seen him, he was bare-cheeked and preferred it that way.

“What, you don’t like it?” He stroked his chin proudly. “Jeyne says it makes me look ‘rugged’.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, same old Robb, doing dumb things to impress girls, and grabbed her bag off the carousel. Robb snatched it out of her hand, hefting it over his shoulder as he led her to his car.

“You got rid of the truck?”

Robb’s first car had been a hand-me-down from their Uncle Ben, it was rusty and falling apart even then, but at sixteen, Robb thought it was the best car in the world. Their mother had been horrified, calling it a rolling deathtrap, but Robb was immediately in love and nothing could sway him to give it up. “Yeah, the old girl finally fell apart. While I was driving, so that was a little scary. Now I’m stuck with _this_ ,” he said, the last word filled with loathing. _This_ turned out to be small silver sedan, hardly any scratches or rust spots, it had to be decades newer than Benjen’s old pick-up. And there weren’t any fast food wrappers on the floor or soda stains on the seats, she noticed as she climbed in the passenger side. It was a proper grown-up car with a little pine tree air freshener and everything. No wonder Robb hated it. “Where to, Sans? I was thinking we’d go back to my place and catch up for a bit, but if you want to go straight to Mom’s and see the boys, we can do that.”

 _Oh gods, Mom_. Robb told Sansa that Arya had been running interference, assuring her that their mother only heard the bare minimum. Catelyn knew that Joffrey and Sansa had broken up and she knew it was not clean break, but the details and nasty rumors had thankfully been diverted from her attention. But now that Sansa was here, she would have to tell her mother the truth. “To your house, please. I need a shower after that flight. And besides, I can’t wait to meet my sister-in-law.”

Robb’s brow furrowed a bit at the mention. They’d talked about that, on their phone call. Robb’s wedding, almost a year ago now, and how Sansa had missed it. He didn’t come right out and say so, but Sansa could tell it still bothered him. “Yeah, Jeyne’s excited to meet you too.”

It was only a short drive from the airport to Robb’s quiet little neighborhood, each house perfectly spaced apart with neatly shoveled drives. Robb pulled into his garage, his small yellow house settled on a corner lot. Robb lifted her bag out of the back seat and led her down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s next door, kitchen’s down the hall,” he told her as he dropped her luggage gracelessly on the bed.

“Thanks.” Sansa looked around the warm little guest room, painted a minty green with delicate white furniture. It was almost like her childhood bedroom, except her walls had been lilac. In fact, now that Sansa got a closer look, she’s almost positive that this was her vanity. “So where is Jeyne anyway?”

“She’s out with Jeyne Poole. She thought we might want to catch up one-on-one first. She should be back before too long though.”

“Oh, ok.” Her sister-in-law was out with her childhood best friend. Weird, but it was good, good that those two had found each other. Sansa had spared even less time for her friend in the past years than she had her family. Jeyne was a good person, she deserved good things. And it was good that Robb’s Jeyne was making friends too, having moved across the country for Robb. Sansa knew it irritational to feel replaced so she refused to linger on the thought.

“There’s clean towels in the bathroom and Jeyne’s got some girly shampoo if you need it. I’ll be around, whenever you’re ready to talk.” With that, he turned and left her alone in the room.

Sansa took another moment to look around, the familiar furniture in an unfamiliar house, trying to organize the flood of emotions she was feeling right now. Happy, for sure. She loved her family and seeing them was long overdue. But Robb wanted to talk and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t know about what. And that made her feel anxious and ashamed. It’d never been her intention for her family to know anything, whatever Joffrey did to her was done behind closed doors. If she’d been brave enough to break up with him properly, she could’ve taken this secret to her grave, but no, she wasn’t that strong…

With a determined huff, Sansa pushed all that to the back of her mind. It wouldn’t do any good to get herself all worked up before their talk even began. So instead she unpacked her bag, and carried a change of clothes with her to the bathroom next door. Flights really did leave her feeling grimy.

***

Robb was waiting for her in the living room when she got out of the shower. He looked so serious, sitting there still and pensive. Despite the auburn of his hair, Sansa was struck just how much he looked like Dad. It made her heart ache. He’d been gone almost ten years now but some wounds never heal. “So, uhm, I guess we should talk, huh?” she asked, settling into the couch opposite his armchair.

“Only if you want to. If you’re not ready, I understand.” He tried to smile for her, put her at ease, but his lips barely moved and it never reached his eyes.

“No, I’m ready. I’m just not sure where to start.”

“How about just… are you okay?”

She took a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay. It wasn’t—” Sansa almost said ‘wasn’t that bad’, an automatic response, the same refrain she used to comfort herself through the years. People had it way worse off than she did, how dare she complain. But, yes, it was bad and yet she came out the other side. “You were right about him. I should’ve listened.”

“I know.” Sansa expected him to brag but he didn’t seem to take any pleasure in being right, not this time, no I-told-you-so song and dance. “Did he— I told her not to, but Jeyne buys those stupid tabloid magazines in the check-out lane. I try to ignore the ones about you, but… Your songs, that picture. Sansa."

“I don’t know what the tabloids are saying, but, yes, he did. I’m sorry you found out that way. I should’ve given you a heads up.” Not that she had one of her own, but that would take too much too explain just now.

“Not me, but what about Mom? Arya and I tried to keep the worst from her, but do you have any idea how hard that was?” Robb cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep breath. “I know those stories are usually bullshit, but when they’re all reporting basically the same thing, you kind of figure there’s truth in there somewhere. And then you fell off the radar. I called every contact number I had for you, and no one could tell me where you were. I was scared for you, Sans.”

“I didn’t mean to make you worry. I had to change my number, Joffrey left some really nasty messages… I didn’t think about how you might try to reach me. I should’ve called you first.”

“Why didn’t you?” His voice cracked under the pain, the heartbreak that she hadn’t confided in him. They had been so close growing up. Sansa always ran to him will all her hurts, from scraped knees to fights with Arya. She slept in his room for weeks after Dad died. There was nothing Robb couldn’t make better for her. Except for this.

 _Oh no,_ if Robb cried, then Sansa wouldn’t be able to stop herself. Sansa reached across the space between them and took hold of his hands, pulling him from his chair over to the space beside her. “I wanted to. The night I decided I’d had enough, you were the first person I thought of. I wanted my big brother but I _needed_ help. You were too far away to do anything, so I called Jon instead.”

“Jon Snow.”

“Yes. He was the only person I knew in the city not connected to the Lannisters, the only one I trusted…”

“He was able to help you?”

“Help doesn’t even begin to cover what he’s done for me. We made that album together, he didn’t give up when I was second guessing myself, he gave me a place to stay without a second thought…”

“I’m glad he could be there for you.” Robb put an arm around her as Sansa leaned into his side. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I knew Joffrey was shit, but I thought he at least treated you alright. You always talked like the sun shined out his ass.”

“Love is blind. And deaf and dumb and stupid. He never treated me alright.” The whole world knew now, but it was still hard to admit out loud. Even at the beginning of their relationship, there were red flags, warning signs she should’ve heeded. Robb saw them, Arya did too. But no, Sansa thought she knew better, that she alone could uncover Joffrey’s golden heart. The gold she thought she saw turned out to be nothing but pyrite, fool’s gold, and Sansa was that very fool.

His chin knocked into her head as he shook his head to disagree. “You’re not, Sansa. Not stupid.”

It was such a little thing but it was nice to hear. With Cersei’s derision and Petyr’s condescension,  it’d been a really long time since someone told Sansa she wasn’t stupid.

Curled up together on the couch, they sat in silence, taking comfort just in being together again, until the front door opened and closed and a feminine voice followed, calling out “Robb?”

“In the den, love,” Robb called back, disentangling himself from his sister to greet his wife. A short brunette with gently waving curls, she had a pleasant face, but when she smiled, it was clear why Robb fell for her. After they kissed hello, Robb took her by the hand to introduce her to Sansa. “Sansa, this is my wife, Jeyne. Jeyne, my sister.”

Jeyne smiled. “I am so happy to finally meet you.”

“Me too.” Sansa couldn’t help but smile back at her. Jeyne was sweet, it was hard not to like her. By the end of the evening, they were fast on their way to being friends and when Sansa said as much, Jeyne dismissed her, saying they were already sisters.

***

The peace and acceptance she found with Robb and Jeyne was reassuring, but tell that to her stomach which had tied itself in knots as they headed over to their mother’s house the next morning for family brunch. A tradition started by their father when they were small, the entire family would gather every Sunday morning for a smorgasbord of waffles and pancakes and toast and eggs cooked in every way, really more than the seven of them could eat, but that never deterred Dad, so they were encouraged to invited as many friends as could fit in their home. When Dad passed, the kids all thought that part was gone too, but somewhere around three months after, they woke up to the smell of frying bacon. Their mother had taken up the mantle and they never again missed a Sunday brunch, although no one, not even Uncle Ben, could recreate the famous Ned Stark Northern Waffle recipe.

And it was at Sunday brunch that Sansa would reunite with the family she’d been neglecting for so long. She hadn’t had more than a couple facetime conversations with her mother in the past year, and the last one of those had been before she even started the album with Jon. Robb assured her that Mom didn’t know the truth about what happened between her and Joffrey, that he had Arya running interference to keep the worst rumors from reaching their mother’s ears. For all she knew, this was just an overdue visit home. Sansa appreciated the effort her siblings went through, but she was over lying about Joffrey and she didn’t want her siblings lying for her.

Sansa had been bracing herself for seeing her mother again that she never considered her reunion with her sister. But as soon as she walked through the door, Arya’s was the first face she saw, brows drawn into an epic scowl as she jabbed a finger into Sansa’s chest.

“You have some nerve, showing your face around here!”

“Arya, what on earth—”

“You ruined my favorite band!”

“Ruined? What— how did I ruin anything?”

“The Watchers! You and Jon Snow!” Arya shouted in irritation.

Sansa blinked rapidly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“People online are _shipping_ you and Jon Snow. My friends are shipping you two. It’s disgusting.”

“Shipping? What does that even mean?”

“Shipping. You know. They want you to be a couple. They think you’re _already_ a couple.”

“That’s…” not totally absurd, but this really wasn’t the time or place to get into that. “Why do people think that?”

“Because, in the span of under a month, you and Jon go to the Grammys together, his hand is pretty much on your ass all night and you’re making goo-goo eyes at him. Then you two are photographed leaving an apartment building together the next morning, practically a Walk of Shame. And, _and_ you two were spotted making out at the airport less than twenty four hours ago!” Arya shoved her phone under Sansa’s nose, incriminating photo glaring up from the screen. There was no way that could be passed off as a friendly kiss on the cheek, damn.

“Hey!” Robb snatched the phone away from Arya to get a better look. “Sansa, what the hell is this?”

Great, now they both were demanding an explanation, which she wasn’t prepared to give. “It’s not— we weren’t _making out_. It was one kiss.” Just one kiss at the airport. Again, they didn’t need to know.

“Just be honest,” Arya said, exasperated. “Are you dating my celebrity crush?”

That she could answer truthfully. “I’m not.” However much she wanted to. And who knows, maybe someday she will. But in this moment, the answer was no.

“Thank gods.” With that out of the way, Arya suddenly threw her arms around her middle and muttered in an undertone only Sansa could hear, “I’m glad you’re okay.” As quickly as it started, the embrace was over and Arya was calling down the hall, “Mom! Sansa’s here! Can we eat now?”

“After you set the table. Go,” Catelyn gently but firmly pushed Arya towards the dining room before embracing Sansa herself. “I’m so glad you’re here, sweetheart. It’s been too long.”

“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I’ve been… busy,” she said, knowing that was the oldest and weakest excuse in the book. “But I’m going to stay for a few days. Maybe the week, if that’s alright.”

“You are welcome to stay as long as you like, you know that.”

“Mom!” Rickon shouted from down the hall, “Can we eat yet? I’m starving!”

“Alright, alright, dig in!” She called as she and Sansa joined everyone at the table

***

Once they all ate their fill and then some, Bran and Rickon disappeared into the game room before anyone could press them to help with the cleanup, leaving Robb and Jeyne to take care of the dishes. Arya holed herself up in her room to finish an essay for her Medieval Westerosi History class that she’d been procrastinating on. “Who cares about a bunch of old dead kings?” She grumbled as she slammed the door behind her. Which left Sansa alone with her mom, unable to postpone this talk any longer.

Catelyn pulled her seat closer to Sansa’s and placed a hand on top of her daughter’s. “It’s so good to have you home.”

“I really am sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“Don’t be. You’re here now.”

Looking into her mother’s eyes, Sansa couldn’t delay a moment longer. She thought maybe it could wait, but she couldn’t make small talk with her mom with this hanging over her head. “I have to tell you something, I don’t really know how to say it, but…” Here goes nothing. “I quit Casterly and broke up with Joffrey. And I need to tell you why. Joffrey—”

“I know, Sansa.”

That caught her off guard. Robb swore that Mom knew nothing. “What? But- how?”

“Robb and Arya think they can keep things from me, but I know.”

“Oh. I didn’t ask them to lie for me.”

“I know, baby. They think I can’t handle bad news…” She tutted softly. “I called Petyr as soon as I found out. He said he tried to help you, but you disappeared.”

Sansa shook her head, violently rejecting the idea. “Mom, no. He’s a liar. I know you used to be friends, but Littlefinger— Mr. Baelish, he never helped me.”

“Sansa-”

“I don’t know what he told you, but he helped to hide it more than stop it. When Joffrey sent me to the hospital, it was Petyr who made sure the press never found out. When I asked him, directly, to help me, I didn’t want to live with Joffrey any longer, he called Cersei. They tried to make me reconcile with him.” Sansa could barely remember those weeks, living under constant watch in Cersei’s apartment, only leaving her room to work and go to those gods-awful therapy sessions with Joffrey, with that counselor who kept staring at her chest, all the while telling her it was her fault for triggering Joffrey’s temper. Not for the first time, she thanked the gods for Jon and that stubborn head of his.

Deep lines of worry showed on Catelyn’s face as she frowned. On the whole, Catelyn Stark was a beautiful woman who aged very well. When she smiled, it was like she was still a girl in her twenties, but when she frowned, she looked well beyond her years. “Why would he do that though?”

“Because he’s not the person you think he is, Mom.” Sansa took her mother’s hand in her own and squeezed gently. She knew her mother and Petyr Baelish had been close as kids, and when Sansa signed with Casterly, Catelyn’s concerns were only put to rest thinking that a friend would be looking out for her daughter. How was she to know what a snake he really was. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t- don’t apologize to me. I’m the one who said you could trust him.”

They sat together in silence for a while, Sansa resting her head on her mother’s shoulder, her mother running a hand through her hair, it made her feel like a little girl again. It was calming.

After a few minutes, Catelyn spoke again. “If Petyr didn’t help you,” Sansa was almost proud at the harsh way her mother said Petyr’s name, “then how… How have you been taking care of yourself? Are you doing alright? Where are you living now?”

“I’m doing fine,” Sansa told her. “I’ve been staying with a friend. He, um, his name is Jon. He’s a musician too.”

“You can come home, you know. You can stay here as long as you want to.” _I want you to stay_ went unsaid.

It was a tempting offer, but as nice as it was being back, Sansa knew she couldn’t stay holed away up here forever. “Thanks, Mom.”

***

“Sansa, I’m dying to ask.” They were sitting together in Robb’s kitchen. She’d been home for almost a week now, though she switched from Robb’s guest room to her old bedroom at their mom’s house. Robb and Jeyne were a little too amorous to have house guests stay for more than a night or two. But the quiet of the house while the boys were at school got to her so Sansa gladly kept Robb company while he worked from home.

“What?”

“What’s the deal with you and Jon Snow?”

She’s been waiting for this question. It’d been days, and while Robb had been giving her space, trying not to pry, she could see the way his eyes lit up with interest every time she mentioned Jon. She’d told him a bit about Jon, how they’d come around from hating each other to living together, how Jon had helped her break from Joffrey and Cersei. But the more intimate details of their relationship she’d kept to herself, or at leas tried, but Robb knew there was more to this than what she was saying and apparently now his curiosity had become too great to contain any longer. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh come on.”

“Fine. I… I love him,” she admitted. It was the first time she said the words out loud but it felt right. She just regretted that she had yet to tell Jon himself. They made an effort to talk almost every day since she’d been gone, some calls only lasting a minute or two with his busy schedule, but this wasn’t the kind of thing she could do over the phone. Sansa wanted to tell him as soon as she got home (funny, when she left she thought of the North as ‘home’, but as soon as she walked through her mother’s door, Sansa knew home for her now meant King’s Landing and Jon), but it still made her inexplicably nervous. “But I don’t know what that means anymore.”

Robb laughed. “You’re kidding, right? My little sister, Princess Sansa, who’s had her fairytale wedding planned since she was six, doesn’t know what love means?”

“I’m not that little girl anymore.”

“Yes, you are.” Sansa tried to argue but Robb wouldn’t let her speak. “You just learned that you had the wrong definition of love. Do you remember when you first met The Asswipe?” After their initial talk, Robb refused to say Joffrey’s name anymore, instead using increasingly vulgar epithets. “I still remember hearing you and Jeyne giggling in your room about _oh my gawds, he’s so cute_ ,” Robb impersonated her teenaged self with a falsetto voice. Sansa laughed, because, yeah, actually, she did sound that bad. “He looked like Prince Charming and you wanted Prince Charming. You wanted him to be Prince Charming so bad you refused to see him as anything else.”

“What’s your point?” She asked.

“You see Jon for who he is. Not who you want him to be.”

Sansa suppressed her smile, she refused to contribute to Robb’s inflated ego. “Since when do you give relationship advice?”

“One of the many benefits of being a newlywed, sweet sister,” Robb said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, trapping her in this embarrassing conversation. She tried to squirm out of his hold, but the more she struggled, the tighter his grip. “Now listen to your exceptionally wise big brother.”

Sansa sighed, resigned to hear what he had to say. Though she did object to the ‘exceptionally wise’ bit. This was still the same Robb who’d jumped off the roof into the pool just to impress Alys Karstark in ninth grade after all.

“Love isn’t blind, it’s seeing with your eyes and mind wide open, really _seeing_. It’s when you know someone, the good and the bad, and you accept them regardless. Now, I don’t know Jon. I don’t know what you two are like when you’re together, but just watching you, the way you talk about him, the way you look when you talk about him… It’s miles different than before.”

She hated to admit it but he had a point. Everything with Jon felt so much different than before, felt so much better, so much easier. But there was still a nagging doubt… “Robb?”

“Yeah?”

“I- I don’t trust myself. I mean, I haven’t always had the best judgement in this area.” A deliberate understatement but Robb understood her meaning.

“C’mon, Sansa, you’re a smart girl. You had some bad experiences, yeah, but you’ve learned from them. You’re not going to let anyone treat you like that ever again, right? Even Jon. And if things do go south… you don’t have to handle it alone this time. You know I’m always in your corner, don’t you?”

“I know. Thanks, Robb.”

“Hey, what are big brothers for?” He said with a cocky grin. “Now go call your boyfriend, I bet he’s waiting.”


	6. Chapter 19

It had been a long couple of weeks and, while grateful for the work, Jon was exhausted. He had the next two days completely free though and was looking forward to finishing that book he’d been in the middle of and spending some time with Ghost. Poor dog had been neglected while Jon was promoting his band and Sansa was up North. By neglected, he meant spoiled rotten by his neighbor who looked after Ghost when Jon was busy. But still, it’d be nice to take his own dog for a walk for a change.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. He had just gotten settled in the couch, started a movie, unwinding with a stiff drink, when his phone chimed demanding his attention. As useful as cell phones were, they were equally as irritating. He wouldn’t have minded a call from Sansa, it was about that time of day, but no such luck, unknown caller. “Hullo?”

“Hey Snow! How’s it been?”

 _Shit_. “Ygritte.” The very last person he ever expected to hear from. “What—I mean, how- how are you?” Jon was baffled. His one big heartbreak, who he hadn’t seen or spoken to in over two years, was calling him out of the blue. How did she even get his number? There’s no way she kept it all this time.

“Been good. Just got back from six months in Myr, and whose face do I see _everywhere_?”

Jon forced a laugh. “Yeah, the band’s had a bit of good luck recently.”

“Good for you, I know how much you love your music.”

Jon desperately wanted to ask _why_ she was calling him but he refrained from asking outright. She caught him off guard but he’d be damned if he let her know it how badly she threw him. She was probably hoping for his defenses to be down and he wasn’t about to give her the upper hand.

“So I actually got a job in King’s. It looks like I’m going to be sticking ‘round for a bit.” They broke up because she didn’t want to settle down, couldn’t imagine staying in one place for more than a few months at a time. And now she was ‘sticking ‘round for a bit’? Gods, but her timing was awful. “I was thinking maybe we could meet up, get a drink. Reconnect a little. What do you say, Jon?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe—”

“Great. Dragon Pit, one hour.” Ygritte never asked, she told.

Jon was going to do the usual thing, say ‘let’s make plans’ in that way that leaves both parties knowing that they’ll never actually see each other, but Ygritte apparently wasn’t on the same page. Typical, when had they ever been on the same page about anything? “…yeah, ok.”

“Don’t stand me up, Snow.” She hung up with what from another girl might have been a giggle, but from Ygritte, it was more of a snort.

Jon dropped his phone, feeling in a daze. What great fucking timing. Jon wasn’t sure if he even wanted to see her again. After they broke up (after she dumped him) he’d been hung up on her for an embarrassingly long time. He swore that he would never love again and at the time he thought he meant it. But he knew he wasn’t going to stand her up now. Jon couldn’t.

***

Jon picked her out the crowd in the bar immediately. Her hair was like fire, and like a moth he was drawn to it. He tapped her shoulder. “Ygritte.”

She spun around on her stool and grinned at him, that crooked smile that used to make his knees go weak. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me hanging.” She slapped the stool next to her inviting him to sit. “I already ordered us some beers.”

Jon slid onto the stool and accepted the pint. “It’s good to see you again.” By good, he meant weird. This was weird.

“Yeah, right? I’m sorry for falling out of touch, it’s just you don’t always get good cell service in Essos.”

“Mm.” Jon knew that wasn’t the only reason they lost contact. After a few months of pathetic pining and a couple of especially embarrassing drunk dials, Jon made a conscious effort to move on. Whenever she texted, he deleted without replying, and if she tried to call, he would ignore it to the best of his ability. After six months of that, eventually Ygritte must have got the hint that they couldn’t be ‘just friends’ and stopped trying to reach him and Jon was finally able to delete her number.

Ygritte led the conversation and he willingly let her. Besides the fact that she was naturally more of a talker than he was, Jon was still a little overwhelmed by the fact that she was here, too numb to do give more than short answers to her questions and nod along when she talked about herself, all the places she’s been and all the wild adventures she’s had since he saw her last. The more she talked, the weirdness started fading away and Jon allowed himself to get swept away in the familiarity of her company. But before he allowed himself to get too comfortable, he had to know. “Ygritte… why did you call me? –Not that I’m not glad you did, but… why?”

 “C’mon, Jon. You know why.”

The only thing that registered in his brain was the smell of beer on Ygritte’s breath as she leaned into him, and then there was the taste of it, the taste of her as she was kissing him. It was rough and warm and utterly familiar. Muscle memory had him kissing back before his brain knew what was happening. “Wait.”

“What, you didn’t forget how to do it, did you?” She smirked at him, wicked twinkle in her eye that Jon knew all too well. The last time he’d seen it, they’d four days straight in bed, with only brief interludes for pizza and beer. It was that tryst that had Jon convinced that he was going to marry her someday. Despite his best efforts Ygritte hadn’t arrived at that same conclusion.

“I didn’t forget,” he said, turning away from her before she could catch him again, her lips making awkward contact with his cheek.

She furrowed her brow as she studied him. This was new territory for them. Jon never rejected her before and they both knew it. “Is there someone else?”

“Yes.”

“Who?” Her jaw dropped as the realization came to her and she slapped his arm. “Don’t tell me it’s that twiggy little singer.”

“Her name’s Sansa,” he said defensively. Besides, Ygritte was in no position to call anyone ‘twiggy’; she was barely a hundred pounds soaking wet.

“What in gods’ name are you doing with a girl like that? Please tell me you’re just banging her, please.”

 _Just the opposite_ , he almost said, but Ygritte wouldn’t want to hear that. When she knew him, Jon was still raging at the unfairness of how the music industry exploited girls like Sansa at the expense of musicians like himself. What a pretentious shit he was. The Jon Ygritte had known wouldn’t be caught dead at the Grammys and they used to laugh together at the poor saps stuck in gods-awful monkey suits. She’d never understand how incredible Sansa really is. “It’s not really your business, is it?”

“Gods, I thought all that tabloid noise was shit. I thought no way my Jon fucking Snow would get involved with an airhead like that.”

“She’s not—” He groaned, not wanting to get into this, not wanting to prolong this stupid argument and listen to her insult Sansa. “Ygritte, I’m not ‘your Jon fucking Snow’, not anymore.”

“C’mon, Jon.” She put a hand high on his thigh, tempting and teasing. “We were so good together.”

 “No.” Jon ripped her hand off him and stood to go. There was nothing left between them but nostalgia.

“She really means that much to you?” Ygritte asked in disbelief.

“She’s everything to me. Thanks for the beer.” Jon left her gaping behind and exited the bar.

It wasn’t as if he had this huge epiphany when Ygritte kissed him. No, Jon knew he was in love with Sansa for a while now. A month at least, maybe longer, maybe this whole damn time. But she just got out of a long term relationship, a _bad_ long term relationship. He was trying to be respectful. But his resolve had broken the night of the Grammys, when he kissed her and utterly damned himself.

But Ygritte had made him realize something and it was that he was tired of sitting on his feelings. Even if Sansa wasn’t ready for anything more, that was fine. But he had to be honest with himself and with her. And it really couldn’t wait any longer.

“Sam, can you clear my schedule for a couple days?” Jon called from the cab, he didn’t want to waste a minute. He was searching for flights while talking to Sam and willing the cabbie to _drive faster._

“Uh, I don’t know, Jon. We’ve got a lot going on.”

“Make my apologies and reschedule whatever you can, but there’s something I gotta do.”

“For a couple days?” Sam whined.

“This isn’t something I can do over the phone, so, yes, a couple days.”

Sam barely said the word “fine” and Jon hung up. As soon as he got home, he printed off his boarding pass and starting packing a bag. What was the weather like in Wintertown? Cold, probably. Jon packed an extra sweatshirt and another pair of socks. He grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom and threw it along with his hairbrush in the bag. Calling it good enough, Jon zipped up his duffel and grabbed the boarding pass, before heading down to the waiting cab and speeding off to the airport.

Jon fidgeted in his seat as he waited for take-off. Why did it take so long to get these things going, seriously, let’s _go_ already. He hoped he was doing the right thing, though he could as easily be making a huge fool of himself. Now that it was too late to change his mind, he finally really began to think about this. Sansa would be glad to see him, right? Jon reached for his phone, to call her, at least give her a heads up that he was on his way, but his pocket was empty. He pat his left pocket, then the back ones to make sure he didn’t misplace it. Ah, shit. He knew he did  a subpar job packing, going at the pace he did, but to forget his phone? Sam is definitely going to kill him for that. Too late to rectify the mistake, he hoped Sansa would appreciate the surprise, because the gate was closed, the seat belt sign was on, and the plane was off the ground.


	7. Chapter 20

Ok, so maybe this wasn’t the best plan he ever had. By the time his flight landed, it was too late to do anything unless he wanted to go throw pebbles at her bedroom window. Which was another not-so-great plan. Jon knew she was staying at her mother’s house, but he didn’t know the address. Even if he did, he wouldn’t have a clue which window to throw pebbles at. Anyway, he always thought that was one of the creepier romance tropes, no thank you.

What a bonehead move, to forget his phone. Without it, there was nothing else he could do tonight, so he resigned himself to spend what remained of the night in a hotel near the airport. He’d figure out a better plan in the morning.

After breakfast, Jon tried to figure out what his plan was. He didn’t know her number off the top of his head, because who had phone numbers memorized anymore? He didn’t know her mother’s address either… But a flash of yellow caught his eye and Jon snatched the scrap of paper out of the pocket of his spare jeans. He had no recollection of packing it, but somehow Robb’s letter made its way into Jon’s bag, home address and all. “Well, that was lucky,” Jon muttered to himself before he made his way to the rental car place just up the road. None of the cars had a GPS system but the overly-friendly man behind the counter was more than glad to give Jon an old paper map (what decade is this??) and even highlighted a route for Jon to follow. With a hurried ‘thanks’, Jon grabbed the keys and peeled out of the lot.

An hour later (he got turned around once or twice), Jon found himself driving through the depths of cookie-cutter suburbia. “296… 298… 300,” Jon read off the house numbers as he drove along the street at a snail’s pace. All these houses looked the same, if it weren’t for the numbers, Jon would bet that even the people who lived here would go home to the wrong house every night. Jon parked in front of a picturesque yellow house with a freshly shoveled driveway and a white picket fence. _Unbelievable_. Jon knocked on the door and waited.

It was only a brief moment before the door swung open. “Oh shit, you’re Jon Snow.”

“And you’re Robb Stark, right?” It wasn’t really a question; the family resemblance was striking. Auburn curls and wide blue eyes. Jon bet he probably could’ve picked Robb Stark out of a crowd of strangers and still known the man on sight.

“I, uh, come in, please.” Robb held the door open for him and gestured him inside. “You’re here for Sansa, aren’t you?”

Jon saw no reason to deny it. “Yeah. I lost my phone, otherwise I would’ve called ahead.”

“So she doesn’t know you’re here?” Robb seemed amused at that idea, a devilish twinkle in his eye.

“No, she doesn’t. I don’t mean to impose on you, but—”

“It’s not a bother. We, my wife and I, were just about to head over to my mom’s for brunch. Sansa will be there. You’re welcome to come along.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“It’ll be a few minutes yet, Jeyne’s still finishing her hair.” Robb led Jon to the den while they waited, where he could not-so-subtly show off his Watchers memorabilia. Sansa had mentioned her brother was a fan, but Jon was still surprised to see Robb’s collection. Turns out he had been a fan from the very beginning, all the way back to the garage band days. Jon’s met hundreds, thousands, of fans over the years, but something about this was especially flattering.

“I don’t even have this much WoW stuff.”

“Well, only half this collection is mine. My sister Arya was going to throw some stuff out, but I managed to save it.”

“Why was she tossing it out?”

“Let’s just say you lost a fan,” Robb said before sheepishly asking if maybe, if it’s no bother, could Jon possibly sign something for him? Jon readily agreed.

After scribbling his name on a couple of discs and posters (oh no, Jon had forgotten how gawky he looked at seventeen…) Jon capped the sharpie and addressed something that had been on his mind for a while now. “Listen, uh, Robb. I feel like I should apologize, for the album. I don’t if Sansa told you, but I’m the one who took that picture and it was my decision to use it for the cover. It must have been awful, finding out that way.”

“No, man, really don’t worry about it. I mean, yeah, it sucked, but you were helping my sister. Hells, you were the _only_ one helping her. I can’t fault you for that.”

“Still, I should’ve done things different, should’ve thought a little bit more…”

“You did the best you knew how to do at the time with the information you had. And things worked out alright, so don’t beat yourself up.”

Jon wasn’t sure how he was not supposed to beat himself up over it, but Robb at least didn’t hate him and that was something. He hoped that sentiment was shared by the rest of the family.

But there was no time to continue the conversation as Jeyne came down the stairs and after a brief introduction, the three of them were off to the Stark home.

***

The home of Catelyn Stark was still a suburban nightmare but it was in an older neighborhood so at least it didn’t look exactly like the houses to either side of it. No offense to Robb, who Jon admitted that he liked, but the man had poor taste in homes. Perhaps that was Jeyne’s influence though.

Jon followed the couple into the house. “Mom, you’re going to need to set another place at the table,” Robb called as he made his way to the kitchen where the rest of the family was gathered, Jon following a few hesitant steps behind.

“If it’s Theon Greyjoy, tell him to beg for scraps somewhere else. Does Jeyne not feed that poor boy?”

“It’s not Theon. It’s—”

“Jon!” Sansa squeaked and threw herself into his arms. It took a surprising amount of willpower not to kiss her senseless in front of her family. The mania that filled him last night had cooled some in the morning light, but now that she was here in front of him, it came rushing back. “What are you doing here!”

“I had a break in my schedule and I wanted to see you.” Only half a lie. “I left my phone at home, otherwise I would’ve called. At least I managed to find your brother.”

“By doing what, knocking on every door in the North?”

“Basically.”

“Will you be staying long, Jon?” Sansa’s mother asked. Family resemblance indeed. Looking at Catelyn Stark was like looking into Sansa’s future. Or maybe it was the other way around. And apparently her genes were dominant because all the kids settled around the table looked like a matched set. All except the dark haired girl sitting on the counter. Must be Arya.

“Just a day or so.”

“It’s a long way from King’s Landing for such a short trip,” she said with a look that made him feel completely transparent. As if she knew this was more than just a friendly visit. It was a little intimidating.

Jon shrugged. “I’m used to traveling a lot.” He was about to ask Sansa if he could have a word alone with her but it was at that moment that Catelyn served up brunch and apparently, however glad she was to see him, Jon was no competition for blueberry pancakes.

They were pretty amazing pancakes.

And Jon did enjoy watching the Starks. It was easy to feel comfortable in their company, even if he was still anxious about the confession he had come all this way to make. Rickon immediately took to Jon, mostly because he was the only one in the house would hadn’t heard all of the stories about his daredevils antics. As Rickon chattered, Catelyn firmly denied him his request for a motorbike before he even asked. It felt like they’ve had this conversation a lot. Bran was quieter, more pensive, but really intense when his focus was on you, but never in an uncomfortable way. Arya was a world class bickerer, sending barbs to everyone, Jon included. Or especially. He wasn’t exactly sure if she liked him or not, even though he swore Sansa told him she was a fan of the band…

Lucky for Jon, Sansa seemed to want a moment alone as much as he did. After everyone had eaten their fill, she grabbed their coats and pulled him outside to talk.

It was freezing on the back porch but it was quieter than inside the house and offered a bit more privacy. “I didn’t exactly come all this way just to see you. I did, but, it’s because there’s something I want to say and I thought it was better to do this in person.”

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about too.”

“Do you—”

“No, you start. You came all this way after all.” Sansa brushed the snow off the bench and sat down.

Jon would have sat too but it was too cold to stop moving so he paced around the deck, fists curled deep in his pockets clinging to warmth. “My ex called me last night. I haven’t heard from her in… years.” He glanced over to her and she nodded encouragingly, though she looked rather skeptical. “She was my first… everything. And I thought my last, too. She broke my fucking heart when we broke up. But somewhere in my mind, I guess I kept thinking we’d come back to each other someday. So when she called and said she wanted to meet up, I just…” He groaned. He knew he was talking too much and what the hell did any of this matter but he couldn’t get his mouth to shut up, he couldn’t get his brain to find the right words so he just kept talking to get all the wrong ones out of the way. “We got a couple of drinks and it turns out she’s moving back to the city, for good.” 

“Oh.” The look on her face was hard to read but Jon had an idea what she was thinking and it was the opposite of what he was trying to say. Dammit, when it came to songwriting, he was great with words, but, here, now, when it mattered, he was floundering.

“I think she wanted to give us another go. She said she missed me and we were good together and next thing I know she was kissing me. I might’ve kissed her back, but I swear—”

Here, Sansa interrupted him. “Jon.”

He stopped pacing but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her. For the grand declaration of love he intended to make, starting with ‘I kissed another woman’ probably wasn’t the best way to go about it.

“Why are you telling me about making out with your ex-girlfriend?”

Jon ran his hands over his face. “I’m not being clear. I only meant to say… I don’t feel anything for her anymore.”

“Okay…”

“I don’t feel anything for her because I’m in love with you.” He glanced over at her. She’d risen from the bench and brushed the snow off her backside. He looked at her but couldn’t decipher the look on her face so he kept talking. Probably digging himself into a deeper hole but fuck, he couldn’t stop himself. “I know your breakup wasn’t that long ago and you’re probably not ready for anything. I don’t mean to pressure you, I promise I won’t make it awkward when you come home, I mean, back to King’s Landing, but I need you to know—”

“Jon.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” She grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him, putting all that longing of the past few weeks, into it. While her lips moved against his Jon could almost forget how cold it was out here. He threw his arms around her and pulled her flush against him, as if they weren’t already as close as could they could be while wearing this many layers of clothing. “I love you too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve been dying to tell you since you first kissed me.”

“Then what the hell have we been doing all this time?”

“Being idiots,” Sansa said, but she was smiling. That was easily Jon’s second favorite thing she did with those lips and she was pulling him in for his first.

They were interrupted by pounding on the door, they looked up to see the three youngest starks making faces pressed against the glass. Arya was dramatically gagging, Bran had his eyes crossed and his cheeks puffed out, while Rickon had his arms wrapped around himself, hands running up and down his sides as he mimed an intense make-out.

Sansa’s face turned scarlet and she hid her face against Jon’s shoulder. “Ohmygods, I’m so sorry. They’re the worst.”

Jon only found it funny.  With a little shift, he dislodged Sansa from his shoulder as he gathered a clump of snow in his hand and launched it at the window. The Stark children just laughed at him, Sansa included.

“You call that a snowball?” Arya asked, sticking her head through the sliding door. “For a guy named Snow, you sure suck at this.” She bent down as if to show him how. Within seconds, she held a perfect sphere in her bare hand, completely oblivious to the cold and aimed it straight at his head.

“Give me a break, I’m new at this.” As he tried again to make a better snowball, he was suddenly assaulted from all directions. Even Sansa had gotten a shot in, he saw her wipe the snow from her hands. “This just isn’t fair.”

A snowball fight wasn’t exactly what he was expecting when he booked his flight North. He didn’t know what he had expected, but teaming up with Sansa, Rickon, and Bran against Arya, Robb, and Jeyne as they fought for ownership of the wide back yard wasn't it. The four of them had been making good progress against the other team, nearly enough to claim the victory, however these things were decided, until Arya somehow orchestrated an avalanche, knocking piles of snow from the tree branches, and burying Jon up to his neck. Not wanting them to stop on his account, Jon insisted he was fine, but considering he couldn’t get those two words out without his teeth chattering, the game was called.

Catelyn was well prepared for this scenario, having been witness to countless snowball fights over the years. When they all come trudging back into the house, she was ready with hot chocolate and blankets warm from the dryer. She even had a dry pair of sweatpants set aside for Jon, which he was grateful for as the snow started to melt and soak into his clothes.

Jeyne was the only one shivering as hard was he was. The two of them were bundled in the extra blankets as they tried to warm their thin Southron blood. The Starks teased them for it, but Jeyne and Jon agreed that the Starks were insane. “I think you passed the initiation.”

“What?” Jon asked. She had spoken softly to not be overheard, but the rest of the family was hardly paying them any mind as it was.

Jeyne spoke a little louder. “The snowball fight. It’s like some kind of initiation for them. You’re practically family now.”

Practically family. The thought warmed him enough that he dropped the blanket from his shoulders, and one look from Sansa and he was on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is actually the last chapter I have, but ending here leaves Sansa's career in Lannister hands :/ I'm not sure how to resolve that. Any ideas?


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